Know Your Limitations

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I am writing this while significantly symptomatic. It’s something of an experiment. It is really more of a journal than a blog post. It is not edited. There are probably a lot of typos and other issues. And I just can’t bring myself to care about that at the moment. 

I’m exhausted, mentally, physically, and psychologically. Once a month we do a training for work. They bring in speakers. We have seminars. We do team-building exercises. Stuff like that. It’s the sort of thing that I always feel like I should be able to do but then it takes so much out of me it would probably have been better not to do it. Except that they’re required so the whole not doing it thing is really out of the question.

For these trainings we generally all are in a conference room. There’s something like 25 of us. I should know the exact number. It’s always the same. I have access to it. But I don’t really care so we’ll just say that it’s 25. That plus supervisors and speakers makes it something like 30 of us.

Generally speaking there are two sessions. One from 9:00 to noon. Then we’ve got a lunch followed by another session from 1:00 to 5:00 or so. Sometimes we get out early. This month we were done at 4:30, which was nice.

It’s like being at school again, but with hella long classes. I say that it’s like school but the truth is that I would never have done something like this in college. I had a disability plan. Plan isn’t the word. It’s something more official sounding than plan, but when I get like this my verbal intelligence is really low, so we’re going with plan. The other word sounds a lot better but I just can’t access it at the moment. The plan, or whatever the word is, exempted me from stuff like this. Because these sorts of things are really bad for my mental health, at least in the short-term.

I’ve lost my train of thought. It happens. It happens constantly when I’m like this. I just can’t keep my thinking particularly ordered. It’s all over the place. Ordered thought for me requires effort, and effort is something that I just can’t give right now.

We had training. It was exhausting. One of the seminars really triggered me. This is where things went south in a hurry, or more south than usual.

I like to think that I’m not disabled. Sure, I’m bipolar and I have PTSD, but I don’t think of that as a disability. Disability is another level of stigma. It took my partner intervening for me to register with the Disability Resource Center is college. I didn’t want to. But registering and getting accommodations (that’s the word from earlier, I think) is what enabled me to be able to graduate. Without the accommodations I would probably have failed all of my classes my last semester. I was in pretty bad shape at that time, having relapsed shortly before classes started.

After being triggered I started to walk out of the training. It was during the last seminar anyway, and at that point I was so emotionally and psychologically drained that I wasn’t going to get anything out of it anyway. But pride stepped in and I stayed.

Now I’m in worse shape than usual after a training. I went home and slept about ten hours. But that didn’t help. I’m not particularly attached to existing at the moment. It’s not that I’m suicidal, though passive ideation is pretty normal for me. It’s just that I don’t give a shit that I’m alive.

I didn’t go on my normal Saturday morning coffee date. I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for that. I couldn’t make breakfast this morning. I meant to. Insomuch as I want anything I wanted to cook. But there were options. And options were crippling. I was going to make pork chops and eggs with breakfast potatoes (one of my favorite breakfasts to cook and to eat), but we didn’t have pork chops. So I went to the store but I couldn’t pick a package of pork chops. There were so many options. I just stood there staring.

So then I thought I’d just get some bagels. No can do. Lots of options. How many bagels should I buy? What kinds? My partner was there to bail me out so she picked the bagels. I don’t know how many. I don’t know what kinds. I just stood there, crippled, staring at the case. I didn’t even see her get them.

I like egg and cheese on my bagel. I love bagel sandwiches. But we’re out of cheese. So I head to the cheese aisle (that’s not the right word again, but for the life of me I don’t know what to call where the cheese is right now). There were a lot of cheeses. I’m going to say hundreds. That’s probably not literally true but it’s emotionally true.

So I stare at the cheeses, again crippled by all of the options. My partner came to the rescue again. I don’t know what she got. I didn’t see her do it. I was still staring at the cheese options.

We left the grocery. I don’t know what we got. I don’t really care anymore. I’m not cooking, she is. I can’t speak without stuttering. I can’t stand the sound of the cooking from the kitchen. I can’t stand the sound of my kids in the other room. I can’t stand the words that are in my head. I feel stupid. I feel worthless. I feel like I should have been able to stay in the training without, for lack of better word, breaking. I feel like I should be able to find words right now, and think coherently. I feel like I should be “normal”.

Here’s where I would normally say something positive. But I’m not going to. In my experience, right now, there isn’t anything positive. I want everyone to go away. I want to go away. I want to get away from myself, and everyone else, if that makes sense. It doesn’t to me. Nothing does.

And that’s pretty much all there is to it right now. I did a training yesterday. Everyone does them. Everyone does fine but me, or so it seems. And so I feel worthless. And I feel like even existing is a little bit too much for me at the moment. And I’d love to say that it will get better. I know that it usually does after a couple of days. But this time it feels different, or does it? This time it feels like I won’t recover from it this time.

But maybe it always does. Who knows?

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